


Eye of the Beholder

by Nightdog_Barks



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Home, Kid Fic, Painting, Reconciliation, Subterfuge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-07
Updated: 2009-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightdog_Barks/pseuds/Nightdog_Barks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Revenge can be a two-way street.  What if House <i>had</i> retaliated?  1,231 words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye of the Beholder

**Author's Note:**

> This story was sparked by [this post](http://blackmare-9.livejournal.com/261159.html) from [](http://blackmare-9.livejournal.com/profile)[**blackmare_9**](http://blackmare-9.livejournal.com/) and the comments that followed.

_**Eye of the Beholder**_  
 **TITLE:** Eye of the Beholder  
 **AUTHOR:** [](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightdog_writes**](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/).  
 **CHARACTERS:** Cuddy and House, with an appearance by Wilson and an OMC  
 **RATING:** PG-13  
 **WARNINGS:** Yes, for unadulterated fluff.  
 **SPOILERS:** Yes, for Season 5 in general and episode 5.14 ("The Greater Good") in particular.  
 **SUMMARY:** Revenge can be a two-way street. What if House _had_ retaliated? 1,231 words.  
 **DISCLAIMER:** Don't own 'em. Never will.  
 **AUTHOR NOTES:** This story was sparked by [this post](http://blackmare-9.livejournal.com/261159.html) from [](http://blackmare-9.livejournal.com/profile)[**blackmare_9**](http://blackmare-9.livejournal.com/) and the comments that followed.  
 **BETA:** My intrepid First Readers, with especial thanks to [](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/profile)[**deelaundry**](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/).

  
 **Eye of the Beholder**

  
The first clue that something's wrong is the painters' van parked in the driveway. The other _wrongs_ are obvious -- the van's back doors open, men in white coveralls walking purposefully in and out of her house.

 _Not Rachel_ , she thinks. _Becky said she's taking her to the park today._

Still, she takes a deep breath as she opens the door of her Lexus, but once out she sprints across the lawn and buttonholes the first guy she sees.

"What's going on here?" she demands. The guy's got a tiger-striped buzz cut, and he blinks at her.

"Mrs. Cuddy?" he says. "You're gonna be so happy -- it's looking _awesome!_ "

"What are you _talking_ about?" Cuddy barks. "What are you people _doing?_ "

Tiger-stripe blinks at her again. He suddenly looks a little afraid.

"Um," he says intelligently. "Maybe you should talk to Ron?" He points in the vague direction of her front door.

Ron turns out to be the crew boss -- a big man with fading red hair and an incongruously large walrus mustache. He's standing in the middle of Rachel's nursery, a satisfied smile on his face and a piece of tarp in his hands.

Or ... he's standing in the middle of what _used_ to be Rachel's nursery.

Cuddy stares in horror at the nursery walls -- once a bright, cheery eggshell yellow, now a terrifying maelstrom of black and red. Rachel's baby furniture has all been pushed out of the way and covered with drop cloths.

"What have you _done?_ " she snarls.

Ron, seemingly oblivious to her tone, continues wiping his hands.

"What you wanted," he says. "Some dragons, some unicorns." His smile widens. "I gotta thank you, Mrs. Cuddy. We don't often get the chance to really stretch our creative chops, so to speak." He beams at her.

"But -- " Cuddy begins.

Ron grins, obviously expecting the praise and plaudits of a satisfied customer.

Cuddy looks again at the hideous creatures rampaging across the walls. There are dragons, all right -- some of them fighting, some of them attacking what appears to be a medieval village. Ranged further across the wall, half-finished rough sketches depict the villagers' gruesome fate; they're running in terror, but it's too late for a few. One is face-down in a puddle, another's arm is caught in the grasp of a dragon's talons. The dragons' mouths gape, revealing crimson maws filled with razor-sharp teeth, which they're using to tear off some poor unfortunate villagers' heads. There are unicorns too -- nightmare horses with blazing coal-red eyes. They're rearing up, cracking some of the villagers' skulls with their hooves, and their horns appear to be draped with some other poor unfortunate's guts.

It's a scene worthy of Hieronymus Bosch -- all that's missing are the giant bird-creatures ripping out someone's entrails.

"Oh my God," Cuddy whispers. Ron nods enthusiastically.

"It's coming along great!" he says. "Course, Mr. Cuddy gave us a pretty detailed description and faxed over some drawings, so we knew just what you two wanted. Your teenager's gonna love it!"

Cuddy stares at him.

"My -- " For the first time, the painters' words penetrate. " _Mister_ Cuddy?"

Ron's hundred-watt smile dims just a bit.

"Uh," he says, echoing his tiger-striped employee.

"Tell me," Cuddy says, enunciating slowly and carefully, "what's going on here." She glares at him.

Ron looks at her as if she's insane, and she guesses that maybe she is right at this moment. Rachel's beautiful nursery ...

"Mr. Cuddy," Ron says, and she wants to scream, she really does, because she's starting to get a hint, a pit-of-the-stomach-sinking hint as to who's behind this.

"He called," Ron continues. "Mr. Cuddy. He said you two had decided you wanted the baby's nursery in the _back_ bedroom, that your son was going to move out of _there_ and into _here_."

Cuddy takes one more look at the nursery walls -- the walls that had once held happy scenes of lambs and ducklings, frog princes commanding lilypad armies. A gryphon grins back at her, its eagle beak open in a silent shriek. She turns back to Ron.

"There is no _Mr._ Cuddy," she explains through gritted teeth. "And no teenage son."

"Oh," Ron says. He looks not so much apologetic as disappointed.

"Therefore," Cuddy begins, and it's at that moment she hears an all-too-familiar voice.

"Look, Rachel!" House says. "Look how _pretty_ your nursery is now!"

Cuddy whirls around. _"House!"_

Damn it, the bastard _smiles_ at her as he enters the room, Wilson right behind him. And it's Wilson who's holding Rachel, bouncing her gently in his arms as he stares at the redecorated nursery, the flower-print diaper bag a riot of color against his sober blue suit. He, at least, has the good grace to look contrite, but she still hopes Rachel spits up all over his Hugo Boss. She crosses the room in a few steps.

"Give her to me," she growls, making a mental note to take him off the _Safe Adult_ list _immediately_. Wilson hands her over; he starts to say something, but Cuddy silences him with a glare. She hastily checks under the blanket to see if Rachel's ears have suddenly become pierced or if she's sporting a heart-and-dagger tattoo.

"She's fine," House murmurs. "And so's the nanny. Betsy."

"Becky," Wilson mutters.

"Whatever. We just happened to run into them in the park, thought we'd give the hired help a break so we took the kid to the zoo." House nods toward the diaper bag. "Wilson even gave her her bottle. He'd make a great mommy."

"The _zoo_." Cuddy hugs Rachel close. "While you did _this_."

"Cool, isn't it? Great job, Ron!"

"I should probably be ... going now," Wilson says, and beats a hurried retreat. Ron follows him.

"This _isn't funny_ , House," Cuddy says.

House shrugs. "If you don't like it I can always have Ron and his guys paint over it." He looks at her sidewise. "Some more of that puke yellow you had here first. Nine or ten coats ought to do it."

"That's not going to help _now!_ " Cuddy presses Rachel close; the baby's soft breath tickles her neck. "The paint fumes -- it's _dangerous!_ "

House looks around the room and purses his lips thoughtfully. He glances at her again.

"Wellll," House says. "You could always spend the night at the hospital. Or you could crash at my place." He jounces his cane on the floor. "Now that I've got the electricity turned back on."

Cuddy buries her face in the crook of Rachel's tiny shoulder, feeling the heat bloom on her cheeks.

"It's ... okay," House says. "Something we ... both needed to get out of our systems."

And that, Cuddy knows, is as much of an explanation or an apology she'll ever get. She looks back up at him -- a shaft of sunlight has found its way to where he's standing, tinting his graying hair a pale gold.

"Rachel and I get the bed," she says. "And the porn collection stays on the DVD shelf."

House shrugs. The barest hint of a smile quirks at his lips.

"I wouldn't dream of anything else," he says. As the door closes behind them, Cuddy could swear she sees the gryphon's beak close also in a laughing grin, and she notices, for the first time, that all of the dragons' eyes are blue.

  
~ fin

 _All art is autobiographical; the pearl is the oyster's autobiography._  
~ Federico Fellini, 1920 - 1993


End file.
